Pondering It
by Annie loves it
Summary: Thoughts, remembering, hoping; the usual. A series of one-shots, some connected, mostly not, circling around Yuki and Shuichi and their thoughts about the other and each other.
1. Chapter 1

Pondering **It**

You dance around in your sugar high, twirl in circles and declare your love for me. You search half way across the world for me. Your attempts at being romantic I find to be sometimes not only _disgusting_ but just plain out weird. I dislike your presence a good eighty-five percent of the time. I am repulsed by how you inhale sugar like a vacuum, and your "sense of fashion."

But I still find myself so very intrigued.

I'm waiting for the day your hair falls out, as a result from the _numerous _and _frequent_ times you have dyed your hair. Make up your damn mind brat!

It's just those little things about you, those annoying, pesky, tiny habits of things that you do that create a much larger problem for me. Your persistency, your whining, your yelling, and oh for fucks _sake_ did I mention whining? Every second of every day a constant ringing in my ear that makes me want to fall to my knees and beg for hearing loss.

Which is why I secretly bought ear plugs, so as _soon_ as I hear your footsteps at the door I jam them in. Resistance is futile; you have found a place on my lap at seven thirty every week day after work, to ramble on about _everything_ you can possibly think about.

I hate it how you are so damn sensitive to everything. The look on your face when I yell at you, that kicked puppy gaze. I just can't stand it.

All in all I just can't stand _you_. Yes you, all what, hundred thirty, maybe hundred thirty five pounds of you? Yeah, seems about right. Your body looks positively weightless, laying under the bed sheets, fast asleep.

I also hate how you tend to drool, leaving a puddle for me to wake up next to in the morning.

The one thing that I have to positively hate the most however, the one absolute _thing_ that pisses me off the most, is the words that come out of that loud, obnoxious, wide mouth of yours.

Stupid brat, love doesn't exist. There is no such thing as happy endings, and you most certainly will not be here forever.

Why do I hate that the most? Because it makes me so very sick to my stomach.

The urge to vomit it causes within me is worse than when I accidently sit on the couch, only to feel a wet _squashy feeling_, and learn you again have attempted to make pancakes, while listening to music on your ipod, watching the subtitles on the news, while dancing around to said music, whilst in my living room. If you didn't get all of that, I'm trying to lead to the fact that your countless distractions cause you to spill pancake mix all over my couch, all the time, and you never clean it up.

Anyway, back to my point.

I just wish you would figure it out already. There is nothing deeper to me, nothing lovey and mushy looming in the psych of my mind. The only true, beneath the surface feeling I have when you're around me is utter annoyance, and that's easily read on my surface.

Stop saying you love me, stop pretending I love you. Stop making this into something it's not, stop dreaming up these fairytales in your head. Stop sneaking into my bed, stop nibbling my ear, and for the _love of all that is holy, _stop even all attempts at cooking, because I'm sick of sitting in pancake mix!

Just stop, okay? Please?

So maybe my annoyance isn't all your fault alone, maybe I'm the one screwed up in the head. I don't need the constant reminder that I'm "the one who sees a dead man everywhere," thank you very much. No matter how intoxicated I am, no matter how mentally consumed in the middle of sex I am, no matter how tight I shut my eyes, he is there. The man I killed, blood, gun shot wound and all, is right there.

I remember so little of it, yet my senses of it are so hightened. I've gotten to the point now when I can at least anticpiate the panic attacks, or the sudden shift between one ego of mine to the other, allowing me to politely excuse myself and at _least_ save you from the hours of torture my mental breakdown would have otherwise caused you.

Okay, maybe the politely excusing myself's aren't so poilte, more like me locking you out, or locking myself away.

I hate how it doesn't phase you anymore though. You give me this pathetic, sad, knowing smile, like you can sense the deep corners of my mind are drifting in, and you don't put up a fight.

You let me be.

There was once though. One time. You just had to make that mistake. You're so _foolish_, so damn stupid. You can't save me, you're not a knight in shining armor. The strongest sword of diamond couldn't even leave a scratch on the tendrils of my mind, my memories, my _insanity._

It was pathetic, really.

We were eating a simple, hastely made dinner at the table, when it just suddenly _began_. In my peripheral, I saw my hands begin to shake, and I felt a chill run down my spine. I could feel the beads of sweat form, and fall from my forehead, down my chin, and the second it hit the table, I pushed my chair back, and stood.

" I hate you." All I could think was _no, no please don't say shit like that, not this, I hate this, stop,stop,stopstopstopstopnostop_

And from there, all was black.

Apparently, as you would reiderate to me later, after saying that, I had walked swiftly to my study. Stunned and offended, you had followed me, not allowing me to close the door.

You believe the door is a barrier between us, a wall seperating you and me. Really, it is a method of defense, for both our protection.

I assume that my twisted, disoriented mind felt vulnerable, in danger. The defense had been shattered, and there you were, before it, weilding a bright light that could be my maker of death.

I pity my alter ego. It wraps itself up in a replay; over and over again, the betrayel, the rape, the blood, the pain, the pain, the pain. Blood is everywhere to it, all over it, the walls, the floor. There is nothing but blood to it, nothing else. Shuichi seemed to it an invader, something wrong, this wasn't part of the memories.

Light, goodness wasn't a part of its sick, twisted memories.

If Shuichi hadn't had a massive, swollen cheek and a slightly puffy lip, I wouldn't have believed him when he claimed I had hit him.

"Why did you hit me last night?" you asked, calm, cool, collected. The three C's that I had thought you incapable of commiting.

"What?" I didn't know what shocked me more; your claim, or your attitude while _saying it._

"You freaked out last night at dinner, so I followed you. You hit me, and then you grabbed my shirt, and threw me to the ground across the room. I booked it out, and slammed the door in your face. You were coming after me for more."

I looked down and noticed my glass had slipped from my fingers, spilling water and glass everywhere.

I was so shocked.

"I," I couldn't quite think of what to say, but I knew I should have said something.

"I know you, I know _you_ wouldn't do that, right? I mean, that wasn't you, right?" He looked at me, with this look, I unno, hopeful, maybe? Pleading? _Scared?_

"No, God, Shuichi…no."

"'Kay."

I couldn't believe it. That's all you said about it. 'Kay. Like some friggin' delusional house wife who _thought nothing_ of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her drunken husband.

You're not _that_ delusional. You're somewhat reliable inteligently I guess. Why don't you _fucking run away?_

I'm bat-shit crazy, for goodness sake!

I hate that about you. I hate that you stick to your notion of 'love' and say 'Kay' to me hitting you. Attacking you.

I don't even care whether it was me, or _it_ or not. It happened. My body attacked you, my eyes watched it happen, my ears heard _you scream_, my hands _hit you._

Either way, you learned to never follow me again. Which I am thankful for.

I just wish you'd leave though.

Pack up, get out, and do it quick. Do it when I'm at the store, on a book signing, hell, while I'm sleeping. Make it hurt too. Make me _hurt_ for causing this mess.

I'm sick, can't you see that?

Don't you know the horrible things I think sometimes?

I want you to _hate me,_ I want to humiliate you, degrade you, distort you, make you so _sick of me that you leave._

Do you know what I think of doing in order to accomplish that?

You were sleeping, much like right now, your back facing me, raising, deflating, over and over again while you slept. My tired conscience was flickering in between myself, and _it._

Kitizawa was standing in the corner, bleeding, smiling to himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Blood was oozing from him slowly, collecting in a puddle at his feet.

I ignored him, as usual.

But _it_, that other _part_ became _fucking excited_.

_It_ wanted to _rape you._

It wanted to wrap my hands around your throat, strangle you, make you want to scream but unable to, and take you roughly, painfully, make you _suffer._

I hate it, I hate it more than I hate you, because there's this foggy line sometimes between me and it, and I am not sure where it lies.

What if it was really me that wanted to do that? What if it was really me, Eiri, Yuki, whoever I am, that wanted to make you scream in agony, by my doing?

I saw myself as Kitizawa; standing in the corner of every room you would be in, bleeding from a gunshot wound you made in me, out of your pain, your hurt, your utter, irreversable awakening to this world. Your introduction to this horror film.

See, I'm so insanely sick.

Sitting here, back against the headboard, I am exausted and want nothing more than to sleep peacefully.

Yet sleep will not come. Kitizawa is in the corner, broading and bleeding as usual, and your breath is moving in, and out.

In, and out.

I hate how you breathe, and how that puddle of drool makes tidawaves by the gusts from your mouth.

I hate, hate, hate you.

"Yuki, stop staring at me and pondering how much you hate me, because it's not gonna make me leave."

I almost fall off the bed in shock.

You laugh a little and sit up next to me, yawning.

"Nothing will ever make me leave,"And to prove a point, you straddle my naked hips with your own, and kiss my cheek. With an annoying ease, you wrap your arms around my waist, and lay your head on my shoulder."Because I love you."

Kitizawa is laughing now, from his spot in the corner.

It, that other fucking, disgusting part of me is twitching with this urge to throw you off of me, and _to fuck you violently. _

I don't notice that I'm trembling until you do, as I discover by the puzzled look in your eyes.

"I just wish I could make you happy." You mumble, grabbing my face in your palms.

And then it hits me, I think. That cliché realization thingy.

I hate you, everything about you. I hate your noises; your habits; your cooking; your blatant confessions; the mood swings; the fucking _whining_; your damn ambition to save me; your resistence; your drive; your willingness to suffer my _abuse_; the fact I'm not sure if its _me_ or_ it_ that wants to rape you; the fact you'd probably _endure that kind of shit from me._

See? I hate you.

But, for some reason, I think you _do make me happy._

Right now, I'm happy.

You, sitting here, right in front of me, pleading for my sake, I'm happy.

With all of your bullshit that I put up with on a daily bases.

I'm fucking _happy._

I look in the corner, and Kitizawa isn't there anymore.

**End**

Wow. I have 9 days left officially in the school year, and then I'm a senior. I'm SO OVERLOADED I CAN'T FUCKING BREATHE.

Tomorrow I have an I.B. Biology lab report due, usually around ten pages long. It's ten at night, and I haven't even started.

Fuch high school. I'm so –done-.

I was searching for a file for my report, found the first five paragraphs of this, and just HAD to finish it.

Tell me what you think xD


	2. Chapter 2

Fighting **It**

The first time he choked me during sex, we were both surprised.

Out of no where, through the frantic cries, the hasty movements, hands had reached up and wrapped around my neck. The pressure at first was light, then began to grow firmer, enclosing, _choking me._

He stopped his movements and I stopped mine. I know little of my expression, other than it must have reflected my utter shock and fear.

His expression, _his _was just as confused and scared as mine. I didn't get it at all, I couldn't understand.

Something has been _wrong_ lately.

He sits, and just thinks, pondering, wondering, and it is utterly and incomprehensibly disturbing. He is replacing harshness and insults with silence and frigidness.

So the second time he began to choke me, I simply smiled up at him.

_Take whatever you want  
Take it all  
It's all for you  
Take every last breath_

"_Eiri Yuki, _I _love _you." It was all I could muster to say, as the asfixiation set in. He was holding tighter, stronger this time, and my head began to swirl. Through the fog in my eyes I could see his face, his pain. He broke down into sobs, and let my neck free. I wrapped my arms around his collapsed body, rubbing circles on his back.

We haven't had sex in a month. I'm reluctant to put myself in that situation, and he doesn't have any interest. Maybe he's seeing women again? I'm not sure if I can do this anymore. I love him with all my heart, but he is descending beyond my reach. He's drowning and pulling me down with him.

I sigh and shake my head; I can only do what I can, and as long as that is enough for now, I'll gasp for every last breath I can.

He rolls over in the bed and stares up at me. No expression, just a blank, dead gaze.

"What is wrong with you?" he asks, again no emotion.

What is wrong with _me_? I smile. Everything, Eiri Yuki, everything is wrong.

"Nothing, go back to sleep." He rolls his eyes and sits up.

"It's kind of hard while people are staring at me." He looks off into the corner for a split second, then brings his gaze to his lap.

_While people_ watch him sleep. He's not talking about me at all.

"Do you want to have sex?" He asks offhandedly. I shake my head slightly in response.

"No, I don't think I do." He sighs.

So there we sit. Two insomniacs, sitting, thinking, wondering.

"Why did you choke me?" I blurt, before I can quite think about what I'm saying. Maybe I'm tired. Maybe I don't have any dignity or self-respect left. Maybe I just can't take _silence _anymore. No matter how loud I yell, no matter how much I cry, it's still silent.

He takes a moment before he responds.

"_It _takes me over and I just can't control it."

_It._ What in the hell is _it_?

Then I think back to the blank stares, the sudden personality switch, the locking himself _away_, and the _violent attacks._

"Oh," Is all I can say.

His hand snakes its way to me, and grasps mine gently. I turn to my side to catch his expression, but there is none.

"I just wish I could make you happy." Is all I can say, all I've ever been able to say. I've said it so many times now that I'm beginning to sound like a broken record.

Maybe that's all I am; a broken record. A pile of useless machinery, that once held so much music, now scratched, cracked and ripped apart. Is this all I would ever be with him? Would we ever breathe, no choking, no gasping for breath, sit back and just _be_?

His hand that is holding mine is tighter, and for the first time in a while he gazes back into my eyes.

He is suddenly overcome with a feirceness, his muscles tighten, and his lips thin.

"Will I ever be able to do that?" Will I? With how much you hate me? With how much Kitizawa holds on to your peripheral, will you ever take a good look at _me _and the idea of _us_?

"You already have." If it was anybody but Yuki, I wouldn't have believed them.

"Do you want to have sex?" I ask, again with the word blurting. For his few words, I would give anything. _Everything._

_'You already have.'_

Have I? Really?

So we have sex. He takes off my shorts, lays me gently, and does all the work. I don't think I could bring myself to do anything, even if I wanted to.

He doesn't choke me this time. I keep my eyes locked on his, his on mine, and he stays with me. He does not become taken over, he does not lose himself, he _stays with me._

But neither of us are aroused, and it becomes pointless.

"I can't do it," He mutters, pulling out and rolling to the side. "I can't get you up, and I can't have sex with you. It's like fucking a corpse."

My next breath is sharp and it sends shivers down my spine. His as well. He understands what he has said, and I'm sure it hurts him more than it hurts me.

"That's…that's not what I meant Shuichi."

Isn't it though? Hasn't it always been what you meant?

"Shuichi, damn it, you make me happy. I don't know why, or how, but you make me _happy._" He rolls to his side and wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him.

And I look into his eyes, full of just as many tears as mine, and can't help but smile. I wrap my arms around his neck, burrying my head into his shoulder.

I look into the corner behind Eiri's back, seeing nothing. I never see what he sees, but I know all to well. I point my pointer finger, and straighten my thumb, making a silly little gun of sorts. It's kind of funny, in my opinion. I raise my hand to the corner, and jerk it up.

_Pow. _Stay dead Kitazawa.

"I love you Yuki. I love _you._ And I will fight _it _as long as it's here." And I mean it. I re-wrap my hands tighter around his shoulders, and his grasp on me is tightened as well.

"Thank you, Shuichi."

I _will fight it._

_I give you every last breath  
I give you my all  
I give it all for you  
I love you_

**End**

I couldn't leave this a one shot…I unno. Anyway, this is kind of fun actually. Whenever I get bored and need a muse, I'm going to add on to this. Should this go full length? What do ya'll think? Any suggestions? xD


	3. Chapter 3

_Waste not, want not  
Little left, little gone  
Wasn't much to begin with  
Forgive me, I have forgotten what to say_

_I will laugh in the face of mortality  
Let us live forever and Damn the consequences  
I would suffer the fate of Sisyphus a thousand times over  
Just for you to smile and mean it.  
_

Waste **It **Not

The gift of being talented enough to be famous allowed for the luxury of the large, Jacuzzi style bathtub, pushed to the corner of the bathroom, as well as a highly polished, top-quality furnished bathroom with all the modern nick knacks, and for this, Shuichi was grateful for.

Earth toned tiles, with greens, blues, browns; light lime green walls; tall large walk in shower with crystal clear glass doors and a shower head hanging from the ceiling; white French doors that opened back into the bedroom, covered with thick draping cloths; old western style dark wooden floors, giving the room an older appeal; all of these things tastefully put together by the very female interior designer.

Shuichi liked it, despite its rather outstanding feminine features. Yuki had taken one look at it and groaned, saying something along the lines of _'a toilet, a shower and a sink would have sufficed just nicely. This estrogen fueled bull shit was _not_ necessary.'_

The stars were invisible through the sun roof above Shuichi, thanks to the never sleeping nights of the city, yet still the beauty of the midnight sky was not lost as the moon dominated in all of its full moon glory. Its light only peaked through the window however, and the bathroom barely glimmered in visibility by the four candles Shuichi had bothered to light. It was a hot summer night, and the bright lights of the bathroom would only add to the heat.

The only sounds in the room were the last bits of bubbles that crackled as they popped in the lukewarm water, and the splashing noises as Shuichi kicked his legs up over the side of the tub, sliding deeper into the water as he crossed his ankles.

All in all, a peaceful atmosphere, yet it did nothing to prevent the disaster unfolding in Shuichi's mind.

Problems again; lots of problems. As the healing process of Yuki continued, there would be patterns of time when everything he had worked so hard to obtain in his mental disorders would be lost, and he would turn cold.

Colder than liquid nitrogen, Yuki Eiri would become worse than ever before.

Slamming doors, food that went untouched, long agonizing nights in which Yuki would not come home until mornings; scenarios right out of Shuichi's own worst nightmare book. Slamming doors, because it meant Eiri was beyond angry, as his cool, calm appearance couldn't even be maintained in his wrath. Food that wasn't eaten, because it meant Yuki was sick to his stomach with the pain and the confusion. Long agonizing nights because there was always that lingering possibility that he would not come _home._

They were four weeks into this clockwork like cycle, and Shuichi was getting nervous; this was the longest run yet. This also happened to be one of those agonizing, lonely nights.

Yuki was gone out, Shuichi had no idea where, and deep down inside he wondered vaguely if this was it; if there would even be a morning slam of the door and patter of shoes.

The thought curled and burned in his chest, but Shuichi refused to acknowledge it. Yuki would come home, they were over that phase, they just had to be.

Just to be safe however, Shuichi glanced over at the clock on the wall, and decided that in half an hour, if Yuki wasn't back by 2:50, he would go looking for him.

Tears burned his eyes as he knew that he wasn't even sure where he'd start.

Shuichi jumped up, startled when he heard feet shuffling in the bedroom, yet relaxed again when he realized his fears were pointless. The shuffling stopped, and the doors opened wide enough to allow Yuki into the bathroom.

The blond snorted loudly, golden light dimly flickering on his smirking face.

"Figures. Are you sure you're a man? Candles, bubbles and a bath? Shuichi, I'm beginning to think you're deep down a female with ambiguous genitalia." Any other day Shuichi would have rolled his eyes and then begin crying intensely for ten minutes because it had dawned on him that Yuki was making fun of him.

However, not at this moment.

Yuki was smiling, relaxing ever so slightly against the threshold of the French door. He was talking to Shuichi, joking with him even.

So very much unlike the cycle.

Usually Yuki would come out of the lapse slowly, gradually, taking time to adjust back into the light. This sudden abrupt change had Shuichi going from confused, swiftly to anxious.

Something was up.

So instead of responding with hysterics, Shuichi remained quiet.

Sighing, the blond pushed off the threshold, walking into the bathroom. Kicking off his slippers, he made haste work of pulling of his white summer t-shirt. His shorts and boxers were dropped as he stood before the bath tub, glancing down at Shuichi with a tired expression.

"Scoot over," Shuichi complied, moving to the edge of the tub. Despite the luxury it afforded, it was still a one person tub, and once Yuki was settled Shuichi was draped over the taller man.

Both relaxed in silence; Yuki with his arms propped behind him as he laid back, Shuichi on top of his chest with his arms loosely wrapped around the older man's slightly raised waist.

Despite the comfort Shuichi felt in the closeness of Yuki's heartbeat, the intense worry would not go away.

"What's wrong Yuki?" Shuichi asked timidly, hoping that his question wouldn't cause uproar, like it so often did during these times. Instead of a straightforward answer, the man just shrugged, reaching over the tub to dig out his cigarettes from the pocket of his discarded shorts. Finding it, he pulled back, allowing Shuichi to resettle as he pulled out a stick and lit it with the candle on the tile behind him.

More silence followed as he pulled the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply.

"Nothing, actually," Yuki said, blowing smoke from his lips in an exhale. It was such an odd response.

"You're not going anywhere, are you?" Shuichi pressed, deciding to not skirt around it and just get straight to the point. With that however, Yuki angrily stubbed out the glowing cigarette against the tile and flicked it carelessly across the floor.

"If I was going to to, I would have already done it."

Shuichi gasped ever so slightly and his heart raced along with Yuki's frantically beating chest. Looking up from the pale body of the taller man, Shuichi came face to face with Yuki's deep glare.

Yet, the glare, it wasn't _angry_ or _mad_ like so many of the rest. It held an intensity that was unshakable.

Now Yuki's cycles went as such; for long, long periods of time he would be mean and cruel, as usual, yet without the slightest trace of malice. He would share his bed with Shuichi, check up on him to make sure _'the brat hadn't died,'_ make dinner as well as eat it, and would in general be a somewhat acceptably stable human being. Then he would fall into these weeks of time when his remarks held a wrath that made sin incarnate shiver, and his bed would all together be empty as he never stayed in it and neither would Shuichi. Freshly bought groceries went untouched as dinner was not served, and Shuichi would find himself spending hours upon hours alone.

This, intensity, rash honesty, hell, _sincerity _was never included in this cycle.

Water splashed harshly around the two as Shuichi groped Yuki's face, kissing his lover as hard as he could. Strong arms around his waist, pulling him closer as he was kissed back with just as much fierceness.

Yuki Eiri was a smart man, and he was not the type to waste empty gestures on people just because.

Shuichi was overloading with adrenaline. He could hear his heart beat thudding throughout his body, his blood pumping, overheating him. Smoothe hands dragged roughly down his soap slicked body, one stopping at the very small of his back, the other curving along the high back of his thigh.

Then realization overpowered his initial excitement, slamming into him like a high speed train. Yuki Eiri _never _wasted empty gestures, not on anyone, and not on Shuichi.

Shuichi untangled himself from Yuki reluctantly, sitting back in his straddling position. Yuki tried to follow the retreating body, hands firmly wrapped around Shuichi, but the smaller of the two pushed back on Yuki's chest.

"Yuki, I am _not_ Kitazawa. I will not put up with the bull shit, so stop." The tendrils of anger and hurt began to nestle themselves into the pit of Shuichi's stomach.

Yuki merely sighed and knocked Shuichi upside the head.

"I know idiot."

Yuki never, as a fucking _rule_, ever wasted gestures, words, affections, anything at all, without a reason. Shuichi hoped this vital law would hold true as he searched Yuki's eyes with his own pleading ones.

The older blond sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Now that we've got that cleared up, this tub water is cold and _gross_, and uncomfortable. And if I remember correctly, you have some ambiguous genitalia that needs _thorough investigating. _Bed _now,_"Yuki commanded with a growl.

Without wasting so much as another beat, Shuichi scrambled out of the tub, grasping Yuki's hands and dragging him up and out from the bathroom. Water spilled all over the wooden floors as the whirlwind of energy flung himself and his lover from the room.

As Shuichi was lifted and harshly tossed on to the bed, a heavy mass soon following to cover his own body, he vaguely noticed that the candles had been put out.

Lips found their way harshly to the base of his neck, making their way teasingly along his flesh and down to just below his navel. Shuichi could feel those lips curve into a smirk as they altogether skipped the part Shuichi wanted _so bad_ for them to notice, to instead drag along his inner thigh.

Quickly, too quickly, Yuki left the tortured skin of Shuichi's still wet thighs. Shuichi eyes opened in confusion as the man on top of him stilled all together.

Yuki hovered over Shuichi on his elbows, golden locks tickling the smaller mans' face slightly. He breathed deeply, as though trying to calm himself, pace himself, restrain from unleashing some sort of _thing_.Shuichi mildly understood what it was.

"Yuki, this is me, this is you. I love you very, very much. You are not going to hurt me." Shuichi had said it so many times, as it had become an automatic addition to these sort of situations.

"I know." Yuki responded, dipping down to press his lips against Shuichi's, once again dominating his mouth.

Shuichi's fingers wove their way around the long shoulders, burrying in blonde hair.

Yuki never wasted anything, and as Shuichi analyzed these moments, despite the rather distracting talents of Yuki's tongue, maybe Shuichi was becoming one of those things.

Deep down, vibrating from every microtubual of every cell in every part of his body to the very hairs on his skin, Shuichi hoped and prayed it was so.

Shuichi never knew what made Yuki's cycles cut off so ubrubtly as it had, but he didn't care, for the cycles ceased to exist.

The blond's temper wouldn't, which was proven by the very angry growl as it became apparent that Shuichi was thinking to much about something else and to little about the physical, and deciding a sharp bite at his waist was the most sufficient method of showing his displeasure. Shuichi came back to the reality with a smile, reacting properly to Yuki's expertise for the rest of the night.

**End.**

I rarely write unrealistic semi-happy fics for Eiri and Shuichi, and I really wanted to. So I did, therefore this latest addition.


End file.
